Before Malcolm’s funeral got started,I stood talking with John the blacksmith, who told meHe’d been spending some pretty hard hoursWith a pair of two-year-old Friesian maresWho’d never had their feet trimmed.In a flash, I thought of a feral donkeyIn Ireland, back thirty years,

Poor animal, lowly mount of the Christ,Hobbling on hooves long as breadloaves.This had nothing whatever to do with Malcolm,But somehow it did, as it happened.Malcolm had once pronounced me as husband.A wonder. I’d gotten the girl,More than the clumsy hero can fathom

When it crops up in sappy movies.So Malcolm is part of a long, joyful marriage,And the family it made, includingThe children he baptized. One readingCame from a funny noteHe’d left for the pastor, which said in part:“Non-judgment day is coming,

Beware.” I could virtually feel Malcolm’s voice,Insisting as ever that GodWas too big to conform to anyone’s will.There was no one so evil or illTo have strayed beyond the Lord’s grace, he claimed.He was frumpy and funny but mostlyJust good. An accomplished athlete as well,

Improbably fierce on the courts,Although he loved his every opponent,He’d wanted his ashes interredIn a tennis-ball can. It might seem absurdThat I conjured horse or burro,But as we mourners chuckled and wept,I imagined I heard soft words,Malcolm’s, and knew his hand would have stroked

Those neglected, suffering creatures.That funeral day, for all who were there,Was so painful I’d almost swearIt hurt them to stand on God’s green earth.For my part at least I wishedI could somehow walk for a while on air.

My dad’s been a church musician for years. I cut my musical teeth filling in where needed: whichever instrument, whichever voice part. Also: whichever role in the large-scale musicals the church staged, where I was an odd combination of ringer and gofer. Sometimes I sang the role that was too high or too difficult for others.

Luke describes Jesus riding heroically into Jerusalem on Palm/Passion Sunday. According to archetypal imagery, is Jesus riding to heroic victory or tragic defeat?

Luke offers hints along the way that the trajectory between Palm Sunday and Good Friday is something other than utter failure, but they’re subtle hints: Jesus claims the authority to pardon even as he himself is hanging on the executioner’s cross; as he dies, he continues to discuss his kingdom and paradise.

Some preachers complain about the Palm Sunday lectionary, which puts together the “palm” and the “passion” Gospel texts. One complaint relates to dissonance: it’s not easy to pair a celebratory parade with a trial and execution. Another complaint concerns scope: there is too much theological ground to cover and too much liturgical time required.